


Silver and Gold

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Multi, Other, Post-Canon, Reimbodiment, Tolkien Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Míriel and Finwë have been reimbodied, and Indis helps Míriel to heal. The two of them grow closer than she ever imagined they could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver and Gold

Míriel did not seem to need as much sleep as most people since her reimbodiment. She and Indis would walk in the hills together, the wind blowing their hair behind them, gold and silver threads twisting and mingling together. Finwë would come sometimes too, but equally often they went alone, taking a basket of food for the day and not coming back until sundown. 

The outside air seemed to do Míriel good, Indis thought. Sometimes she still had black days, when her quick hands would go still and her voice would not be heard in the echoing stone corridors of their low country villa. The dark moods were growing shorter and rarer though, Indis knew, and she was surprised how much second-hand joy and satisfaction this brought her. When Míriel had first returned, Indis had felt mostly trepidation around her, but the two of them had grown closer than Indis had ever thought would be possible. They were not so different, not really.

Some days Indis would simply sit and watch Míriel at her work, The motion of the needle, the bright intricate patterns it left behind drawing her in, a little mesmerising. Míriel sang as she worked, although Indis had asked her once and Míriel had claimed that she did not even know she was doing it. Either way, the songs had no words, but it amused Indis to write lyrics for them and sing them back to her. The small, secret smile it brought to Míriel’s face was a joy to her. 

They had known each other at Cuiviénen, and on the Great Journey, but that had been a different time, several worlds ago. A different sky, lit by stars alone, without sun or moon, before the Treelight even. They had both been different people then. And Finwë had been between them, for Indis had loved him without hope, transferring her despair and anger onto Míriel. She cursed herself for a fool now. She still loved Finwë, of course she did, but how much better that they should all be happy? And Finwë and Míriel  _did_  make her happy, of that Indis was certain. 

They talked. They could spend many hours talking, as they walked or sat or lay side by side in the warm grass. Míriel had a strange way of speaking, sometimes halting and blunt, sometimes talking very quickly, words tumbling over each other in a laughing river, her dark eyes flashing with a smile. Their conversations meandered, spiralling endlessly inwards with intricate detail, or sweeping out to cover the world. They spoke about their children, and it cheered Indis to see that Míriel was able to speak of Fëanáro, sometimes, without blaming herself for leaving him alone as a child. The hurt was there, Indis knew, and no less painful, but Míriel had the will and ability to not let it break her, and that Indis respected. 

They spoke of art, and music, the world and Eru’s plan for it. They spoke of the field mice that had gotten into the grain store at home and how Míriel had taken them out of the house and released them before the stable hand could set traps for them. Sometimes one of them would hold the other as she cried, whisper soothing words at the times when memory became a painful, bitter thing. Sometimes their foreheads would touch, and they would find themselves drawn into soft kisses, and sometimes they would lose themselves in each other as the wide sky arced overhead, the sun and moon doing their elegant dance.

They were perfect opposites, as had so often been whispered in Tirion when Indis had first married Finwë; the gossips had not been able to get enough of it. Indis for her part, found Míriel intoxicating; where her own hair was golden, Míriel’s was silver, where her own eyes were blue as a summer sky Míriel’s were dark as midnight. They were opposites, and thus, Indis thought sometimes, as she slipped into sleep with her limbs entwined with Míriel’s, the whole world was closed in the circle of their arms. In those moments, there was nothing else. Nothing else was needed. 


End file.
